The Fighting Spirit
by Little Miss Marina
Summary: *Am I sweet like the grape that poaches this vine?* A poetic walk in Zeltennia's ill-gotten orchards. Delita x Balmafula, quick erotica.


"Days like these," Delita said, "Come too rarely, think you not?"

"Think I not what?" She ate an apple, of course. "What kind of days are these?"

"Days when the castle is at rest. Go for a walk with me."

--

Balmafula, as it were, then accompanies His Majesty the King of Ivalice as if were she courting and he maiding.

In the winery, he asked

'Am I sweet like the grape that poaches this vine?'

'Most keenly, sir,' was the game, and the set of the reply. At this he took one of the bead like fruits in his mouth and kissed his lady--together their mouths crushed the juice from the rind, and it showed, pouring forth in streams from their lips.

He repeated the phase again and again as they passed through the orchards. By the hour's end Balmafula had had her fill of grapes,strawberries, blueberries and whatever else they had shared. Now they felt the fighting spirit.

With tongues, they sparred and with fingers wrought the sweat that would drench them and the embracing earth. They spilled into each other; drank each other up, lapping remnants as if it were the world's last drops to quench thirst.

The smell was that of the orchard, the squeezed berry, and the ground they had wrapped themselves in. Thin cloth separated them from planting their own seeds in tilled ground, and the new King smiled at this as his memory freshened with thoughts past spent in his youth taming the good earth.

The witch spread herself out against Delita's chest, letting her cheek reverberate with the sound of his beating heart. She had no qualms about being naked in a garden that was not her own, and was even more pleased that His Majesty did not seem to think it much out of the norm, either.

She hated admitting it, but she loved having such a man who would willingly share sin with her, and to hell with everyone else.

"There is no end to this madness, is there?" she breathed quietly against his skin.

"What madness do you speak of?" Delita twirled the blades of grass about his fingers, losing himself in the deepening sunset, nearly forgetting that he lie unclothed in near public area with a beautiful heretic in his arms, a heretic well known to the public as one with a temptress's body and a goddess Esper's cold, turquoise stare.

"The peasant king and his mistress, a servant of the unholy daemons of Hell," she sighed, rolling over so that she lay nearly on top of him. She placed her chin against his sternum. "Surely, this could result in a scandal that could cost you your crown."

At this, the young king sat up, Balmafula with him, one of her arms planted on the other side of her body. "Pray tell, how may that come about?"

"Just as I say," she said, shifting her weight so that the curve of her back and waist intensified. "A subhuman peasant boy usurps the throne at odds with the Church," she paused, biting her lip as Delita gently sank his teeth into the side of her breast as she would her apples, "Mmm. You know as well as I do," she grabbed the king's chin and brought it closer to her face, "they would do anything to see your throne toppled over top of you."

"Should this surprise me?" His lips found her neck as he breathed, "I am not one of their hypocrites."

"I thought you at least wanted to bring about the _illusion_ of being a holy man?" She gasped between distractions.

Within seconds and several maneuvers of the body, Delita had his woman pressed down against the grass, feeling the curve of her back flex under him.

"I made that promise to no one."

"Should you have, Your Majesty?"

"A man so wrought with sin, such as me?"

His hands found her. She struggled from beneath him without true intention to get away.

"A man who courts two at once..."

A kiss, here and there.

"Kills his wife... fucks a witch in her stead?"

Words unfitting ill become some situations, Balmafula would say. Delita liked her way of saying such things, and to oblige her, he made his point in taking her from behind.

"What would such a man..." his words broken by shortness of breath, "Want anything to do..."

"...with God?"

**끝**

**A/N: This was written, literally, while falling asleep during detention over a year ago, which is why it sounds funny. I have an entire unfinished epic as to why Delita and Balmafula (yes, Balmafula, not Valmafra or whatever) are together. I'd like to finish it and put it up here one day, though this works as a standalone. Hope you enjoyed it.**


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